


reorient.

by dracoon



Category: Live | 라이브
Genre: F/M, Gen, I have to create my own tags!, I love him!!!!!, Other, anyway rehosting this in case Tumblr dies, have you heard about Literally Me the character today, now you have!, who else do y'all want lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23821126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoon/pseuds/dracoon
Summary: Filling in the blanks of Yangchon's one-year recovery period with my own content, because what better use of my time would it be?Canon compliant post episode 18.
Relationships: Oh Yangchon/Ahn Jangmi
Kudos: 2





	reorient.

> _“If we get back together, would we be happy?” Jangmi ventures a cautious question, observing her ex with earnest eyes. Yangchon searches her face- having just planted a kiss on her lips, he feels bold about the gesture._

> _He nods, a smirk creeping upon his features, one that rarely manifested even before his current injuries. Jangmi smiles, reassured, and takes his hand, squeezing it once gently._

> _“I’ll place my trust in you, then.”_

* * *

Yangchon hated fanfare. What he hated even more was to become reliant on others, and this injury meant that this was happening whether he liked it or not. Jangmi had gotten him a lightframe wheelchair he could easily manuvour with his injured hand (she _tried_ to recommend a motorised one, but a glare from him silenced further discussion even as she chided him for being stubborn), and he waited patiently for her to catch up with the children. 

He couldn’t stay mad for long, though, taking in the sun slowly rising amidst the high-rise buildings with a wistful sigh. Despite his misgivings about his currently broken state, he was _alive_ , somehow. Yangchon internally still wondered if it would’ve been better if Sangsoo hadn’t pulled the gun on the perp that had attacked him: the boy had undergone too much stress in the struggle between both the prosecution and police force as an unwilling pawn, and if he hadn’t dragged himself to that hearing, an innocent man would’ve been fired. 

As he turned to see if Jangmi was ready, he unconsciously chewed his lip, and his uninjured hand rose to ruffle his hair in frustration- a habit he couldn’t seem to kick. The hospital wasn’t just treating him for his knee: they had offered him and Jangmi therapy as well, to hopefully be able to sort out his problems. Yangchon balked at this (he _wasn’t_ insane, certainly), but Jangmi had suggested they at least try and see if things fit. 

He deferred, oddly enough, to the only person able to steer his single-minded determination off course. 

Bored with the wait, Yangchon searched his frame now, taking in the full extent of his injuries. A deep scar marred his left palm, but it had almost completely healed by now, and only a slight itch remained as a reminder of the experience. His knee, however, continued to tingle numbly, bound together by a brace as he watched himself with interest, knowing that even the slightest movement in it would cause him great pain. There were scars he couldn’t see, either, probably on his back and under his arms. 

There were the scars, though that were entirely invisible. He didn’t think about those, not as much as one would expect. 

Eventually, he began to move, not out of his own will as Jangmi pushed him towards the car, cheerily informing him about how much he’d missed back home. He lets her talk, content to let her fill him in about things, occasionally replying with a few snide remarks in his hoarse voice. Truth be told, he enjoyed this role reversal, loathe as he was to admit showing vulnerability to others like that. He’d been so used to dealing with everything on his own. Suddenly, his entire family _and_ Sangsoo was in the picture, and Yangchon disliked that idea. 

Going home felt inconvenient and suffocating. 

He scowled at being half-carried into the seat of the car by Sangsoo (was he a c _hild_? He had a damaged knee, not a broken brain), before staying stubbornly silent at any remarks directed his way- instead, he glanced out of the window again, taking in the passing scenery with interest. Mentally, Yangchon was already constructing maps of the surrounding areas, places he could access with his chair and areas he knew often had petty crime occurring. 

Housesitting was boring, with Jangmi away half the time and both the children studying. Where was the joy in that? His heart laid in solving crime and stopping those who thought they were above the law. Even if it meant rolling along on a wheelchair to do so, he couldn't see himself being idle when he knew that crime, unlike the enforcers who pursued them, would never rest. 

Putting on an air of whimsical relaxedness, he stopped just for a moment to enjoy the great outdoors, taking in the fact of finally being released from the sterile monotony of the hospital ward to chase the next thrill of catching another scum who thought they could weasel their way out of things. 

Not on his watch. 

* * *

They couldn’t keep him away from work for too long. It became habit when he started getting strong enough to push his own chair that he would inevitably begin prowling the neighborhood, looking around for things to stick his fingers in and be the nuisance he’d always been to everyone else at the police post. He was dogged and ridiculously persistent, not to mention creative in his methods of tackling and taking down felons without needing to get up from his seat. 

It was starting to threaten the livelihood of the local post with how efficient he was (even in a wheelchair! It was borderline embarrassing), so he received an offer to work a clerk job for the traffic accidents department to get him off the streets for now. Frankly, it was an improvement in a way, considering his humiliating demotion to a regular patrol officer before. Even then, who would trust the man with the busted knee to crunch numbers quietly in a room by himself when he’d been spending most of his free time tackling and running over felons? He didn’t trust even _himself_ to be able to sit still. 

Learning how to use a computer didn’t interest him either. He could do the basics on it like send an email or play cards when he was bored, but staring at a bunch of spreadsheets irked him. The numbers were rigid, unyielding. He knew better than to subscribe to statistics. Only someone in the field would be able to see exactly how they all came together- why accidents occurred, why traffic was the way they were, peak hours from day to day. It didn’t take long for him to get bored when he was done crunching what he needed, and he reclined with his good leg propped on his table as he visualised the “red zones” in his head and watched the rest of the police post buzz. 

He itched to get in on the action. His hands were busy but his mind was idle. That fact was what drove him up the wall most. Sliding his foot off the table, he unlocked his chair and began rolling away from the bustle, heading up to the roof instead where he could sneak a smoke without being interrupted. It made him much better after the stuffy routine he had been shoved into when he could see the sky above his head. Lighting the cigar in his mouth with a fluid flick of a lighter, he leant out past the railings and puffed, feeling every bit like the felons he’d been tasked to put away. 

Maybe everyone was a prisoner in their own right, he thought to himself, chewing the end of the cigar as he looked out to the vast expanse of Seoul below. He needed some people to kick, something he could get his hands on. 

Staring off into the distance, he almost swore he could see his sunbae ahead waving at him. It scared him how fleeting life could be sometimes, and how lucky he had been to survive his encounter. Sunbae hadn’t. He took another long drag of the cigar, relishing the burning sensation as he reclined against the railing behind him. His son had joked about how “God had to nerf him before he was too powerful”. It didn’t seem as much of a joke than the harsh reality of him _needing_ to be there, where everyone else relied on him. 

Sunbae’s words came to mind - _he always bit off more than he could chew_. He finished the cigarette, letting the last whiffs of smoke exit his nostrils and mouth like a dragon before he stubbed it out with a wheel. If not him, who else would be there to bear all that burden? He couldn’t trust anyone else, and he was certainly not about to start involving Jangmi in matters. 

His phone buzzed, and he retrieved it from his coat, giving a sneer about matters. 

Ah, there it was. Finally he had something worthwhile to do. 


End file.
